


Days Without an Accident

by romanticalgirl



Series: OSHA Compliant [2]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-16
Updated: 2015-07-16
Packaged: 2018-04-09 13:43:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4351034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's never as easy as it seems</p>
            </blockquote>





	Days Without an Accident

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently I'm writing another series unbeknownst to me. I blame all of you.

Mickey is an idiot.

For a multitude of reasons. For agreeing to go out and do something with Ian. For talking to Ian again. But mostly for the fact that he actually tells Mandy.

“You what? Are you fucking insane? You’ve got your fucking life together. Why are you letting him in again?”

“It’s fucking miniature golf.”

“It’s a fucking date. And you fucking know it, you stupid fuck.”

“It’s _fine_ , Mandy. I don’t give a fuck about him anymore.”

“Oh my god. I wish I was there to fucking punch your stupid fucking face. No, you don’t fucking care about him. You’re still in fucking love with him because he’s a fucking Gallagher and that’s what they do. They get their claws into us and never let go because they get off on it. Having power over people. So stop being so fucking stupid and such a pussy and tell him to fuck off.”

“He’s taking his meds. He looks good.”

“Are you listening to yourself?” Mandy’s practically yelling. “Are you really that fucking desperate to ruin your life? Why don’t you just go out and shoot someone again and skip all the parts in between? Save yourself some fucking heartache. Maybe you can actually kill someone this time. Actually get put away. Maybe for good.”

“I’m not who I was…”

“Right. Because you’re not involved with Ian fucking Gallagher.” She stops yelling at him, and Mickey can hear her concern. “He broke you, Mick. You’ve finally put yourself back together. Don’t let him do it again.”

Mickey closes his eyes. He knows Mandy’s right. “Okay. Okay.”

“I know what he did to you, Mickey. Right now you’ve got a good job. You and Svetlana are getting along. Yevgeny's happy. Don’t throw all that away for him. Please?”

“I said okay. What the fuck do you want? A pinky swear?”

“I just want you to be telling the truth.”

“I am.”

“I fucking hope so.”

Mandy hangs up on him and Mickey goes out on the one foot wide rectangle of cement that's supposedly a balcony. He lights a cigarette and wishes he had a joint. Of course, if he had a joint, he’d probably do something incredibly stupid like call Ian. He’s had too many close calls with that form of suicide. Instead he goes through half a pack before going to bed later than he should given that he has to get up at four/ At least he’s tired enough that he doesn’t think about Ian. Doesn’t jerk off.

Apparently his dreams don’t get the memo.

**

He’s in a shitty mood when he gets to work. Not enough sleep and way too little coffee. The crew is gathered in the locker room and everyone goes silent when Mickey walks in. 

“Nope,” one of the night crew guys says. “Not late because he got laid.”

“Fuck you. I’m not fucking late.” He slams his locker open and flings his lunch inside.

“It’s 6:55.”

“And?”

“You’re never later than 6:45.”

“And you’re in a shitty mood, so there’s no way you got laid unless she sucked.”

“Nah. If she sucked, he’d actually be smiling.”

Mickey shuts his locker silently and turns around. “It’s a minute to seven. Everyone on the day shift had better be on the floor when the bell rings.” He walks out of the locker room, brushing past Ian.

Ian finds him on the first mandatory break. Mickey’s in his office drinking a Coke and rubbing his forehead. So far none of the caffeine he’s ingested has done a damn bit of good at waking him up or getting rid of his headache, so he’s hoping the sugar will help. “Hey.”

Mickey groans. So much for that. “You having a problem with Jerome?”

“What? No.”

“Then why are you in my fucking office?”

“You’re dating women?”

“What?”

“You’re gay.”

“Thanks for the fucking news flash.”

“But you’re dating women.”

“One of these things is not like the other.” Mickey slugs the rest of his Coke and belches. “Who I fuck is none of your business. So fuck off unless you’ve got something work-related.”

“I thought we were going to try to be friends.”

“We were, and then I came to my fucking senses.” Mickey gets up and walks to the door. Ian grabs Mickey’s arm and stops him.

“Let go or you’re going to lose a limb.”

Ian releases him. “I don’t understand.”

“There’s nothing to understand. Now, I’m pretty sure you have work to do.”

Ian nods and steps back, careful not to look at Mickey. Mickey knows him well enough to know the hurt expression Ian’s wearing.  “We’re keeping this professional.”

“That’s not what you said.”

"Yeah, but then I wised up. Not that I owe you an explanation, but I’ve moved on. You told me what I had to offer wasn’t what you wanted. I believed you. And whether you believe it or not, there’s someone out there who doesn’t turn me away and tell me to fuck off when I tell them I love them. Be surprised at how much difference it makes.”

“You’re with someone else?”

“Have to thank you. You helped me believe someone could love me, that I could love them. You stopped, but who knows? Maybe I’ll get lucky this time.”

“I didn’t stop.”

“Go to work, Gallagher. That’s what you’re here for.”

Ian leaves the office with his jaw set, his eyes bright with anger and hurt. Mickey wishes hurting him felt better than it does. He scrubs his face with both hands and exhales before going out on the floor. Ian’s not the only one with work to do.

**

Svetlana’s waiting outside on Friday, her car parked next to his. She’s sitting on the hood smoking, carefully blowing the smoke away from Yevgeny.

“Papa! Papa!” Yevgeny spies Mickey and stops banging on the bumper to run toward him. “Papa!"

Mickey scoops him up and lifts him up over his head. Yevgeny squeals in delight, kicking his feet. Mickey drops him down then he screams, laughing when Mickey lifts him up again.

“Mama says I stay Papa.”

“Yup. Three whole days.”

“‘Geny three.”

“Not quite, munchkin.”

“‘Geny _three_.”

“Hm. Must have had your birthday already. Guess I must have given you your presents, so I don’t have to buy any.”

Yevgeny narrows his eyes, probably trying to gauge if Mickey’s telling the truth. “‘Geny not three, Papa. Make funny.”

“Oh well. That was a good funny.”

Mickey looks up and Svetlana is striding toward them with fire in her eyes. She puts her hand on Yevgeny’s back, partially angling herself in front of Mickey. Mickey follows her gaze to where Ian’s walking toward his car.”

Of course, with both of them looking, Yevgeny has to look too. “Red, Papa! Red!”

“Yeah. That’s red hair, bud.”

Yevgeny says something to Svetlana in Russian, and whatever she says in response doesn’t seem to satisfy him. He wriggles in Mickey’s arms then drops to the ground, landing on his pull-up padded butt. He jumps to his feet and runs toward Ian, ignoring Svetlana calling after him.

Yevgeny grabs Ian’s leg and clings. “Red!”

Ian looks at him then squats down. Mickey hears whatever it is in Ian’s voice, and he does his best not to think about Ian holding Yevgeny when he was little. About Ian kidnapping him. “Hey.”

Yevgeny reaches up and grabs a handful of Ian’s hair and yanks hard.

“Ow. Fuck.”

Yevgeny keeps a tight hold and turns toward Svetlana. “Is _real_ , Mama!”

Svetlana snaps something in Russian and Yevgeny lets go of Ian’s hair and runs back to her. Mickey doesn’t know what she said to him, but Yevgeny buries his face in Svetlana’s neck when she picks him up.

Ian stands, looking awkward. “Hey, Svetlana.”

She points at Ian and speaks Russian again. Mickey’s got no clue what she says, but her tone makes it clear that she’d just as soon see Ian dead on the streets than say hello. Whatever she said, Mickey can't imagine how Ian feels, because Mickey’s pretty sure his balls have crawled back up inside him, and she’s not even mad at him.

Svetlana hands Yevgeny to Mickey. “Keep him away from baby.”

“Got it. We’ll see you on Monday.”

“No candy.”

Mickey salute her and heads for his car. Svetlana’s on his heels like the rear guard. He buckles Yevgeny in the car seat and walks around to get into the driver’s seat. He looks back at his son. “What should we have for dinner?”

“Itza!’

“Excellent choice.” He doesn’t look at Ian as they drive past him, but he can feel Ian watching them.

“Papa? Mama said red boy was bad man. You work bad man?”

“He’s not a bad man. He just did a bad thing. Everyone does bad things. His bad thing just hurt Mama.”

“And Papa? Mama said he bad to Papa.”

Mickey bites his lower lip and swallows hard. “What movie should we watch tonight?”

“Pickle!”

“Okay. Pickle pizza.”

“No, Papa! Peppy itza! Pickle _movie_.”

“Oh! Mickey smiles at him in the rear view mirror “Okay. It’s a plan.” They get a pepperoni pizza and sit on the small couch to watch Despicable Me. Yevgeny falls asleep before it’s half over. Mickey picks him up and carries him to the bedroom, tucking him into the bed. He cleans up and turns off the movie before going bacl into the bedroom and stretching out on the trundle bed.

It takes a long time for him to fall asleep. And when he finally does, he dreams in red.

**

Svetlana’s waiting in the parking lot when Mickey pulls up. She’s obviously been working all night because she looks exhausted. He unbuckles Yevgeny and movies him to Svetlana’s car, buckling him in again. “You okay?”

“Fine.”

“You want me to come over tonight? Could watch him while you get some sleep.”

“You sure? Alibi close to his home.”

“He can’t drink on his meds. Doubt he’d go to a bar." Mickey can tell Svetlana's pissed that Mickey immediately knows who she's talking about. "Plus he probably knows you live there, and he’s not stupid enough to piss you off.”

“Better not. You can come.”

“Okay. I’ll swing by after work.”

“You stay away from red boy.”

“I know. I know. Christ.”

“You are stupid when it comes to him.”

“That’s an improvement. Normally you think I’m stupid all the time.”

She revs the engine and he shuts the door as she backs up. He manages to step out of the way of the tires as she goes, and he flips her off. He grabs his lunch and heads toward the warehouse. He’s earlier than normal, so he stops outside to have a cigarette. He’s halfway through it when Ian shows up.

“Is it okay if I stand here? Or is that off limits too?”

“Stand where you want.” Mickey drops his cigarette and grinds it out, pushing off the building.

“Seriously?” Ian laughs and shakes his head. “I’ll just find another fucking job. Obviously we’re not going to be adults about this.”

Mickey exhales. “Don’t find a new job. We’re cool.”

“So, can I ask what changed your mind? You seemed willing to try to be friends.”

“Told you. I came to my senses.”

“We spent all that time after you got out of juvie being friends.”

“Maybe you’re forgetting the fact that we were fucking?”

“Just because we’re not fucking, we can’t be friends?”

“No. We can’t be friends because our relationship imploded.”

One of the guys on the crew walks past them, waving. “Hey, Milkovich! How was the Russian whore?”

“I don’t know, Mel. I didn’t fuck your wife last night.” Mel flips him off and goes inside. Mickey picks up his crushed cigarette butt. Ian’s staring at him intently when he stands up. “What?”

“Are you fucking women again?”

“We already covered this.”

“You never answered me.”

Yes, I did. I told you it was none of your business.” Mickey watches Ian’s face and then sighs. “No one here knows I’m gay. They don’t need to know. They can think whatever they want to think. They’re not my friends.”

Ian nods.

“I may have come out because of you, but I didn’t do it for you. Not in the long run. So don’t flatter yourself.”

“I wasn’t. I just…”

“It’s time to go in.”

Ian reaches out, not quite touching Mickey. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want or need your apology. It’s way too late for that. All I want from you now is for you to do your job.”

“Yeah.” Ian sighs and turns around, starting for the warehouse.

“Hey, Gallagher?”

Ian glances back. “Yeah?”

“I wish it mattered. The apology.”

“Me too.”

Mickey goes into his office and sits down, raking his hands through his hair. He can’t do this. Can’t work with Ian like this. He needs to put distance between them, just like he has with the rest of his crew. The bell for the morning shift rings and Mickey heads to his lift and puts Ian out of his head.

It works for a while. Mickey goes straight into his office in the morning and eats lunch there in the afternoon. If he smokes he does it in the back of the warehouse by the repair station. He goes almost two weeks without seeing Ian at work, even though he’s in Mickey’s dreams ever night. He tries to think of other things, tries to influence his dreams and it never works. After a while, he just doesn't sleep. He dozes, trying in vain to keep Ian out of his thoughts. He knows he’s not doing all that well when Jerome leans on his office door. 

“You look like shit, man.”

“Feel like shit.”

“You sleeping?”

“Not really.”

“You need to get laid, my friend. Put the rest of us out of your misery.”

Mickey flips him off. “Yeah, yeah.”

“Dude, I’m not kidding. Everyone’s tiptoeing around you. We’ve come to the conclusion that you need some serious pussy.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.”

“Yeah. You just take that under fucking advisement. And by that I mean do it or we’re gonna drag you out to a bar and find you someone.”

“Okay. I said okay.”

“We’re serious.”

“I heard you. Go the fuck back to work.”

“You’re just proving my point, boss man.”

Mickey turns back to his computer. It’s month end, so he’s checking to make sure all the orders inbound and outbound are met. The day crew’s numbers are good, but they’re still short, so Mickey sends everyone home at five then starts another shift with the night crew to finish them off. He works until midnight then heads home. It’s the weekend and he doesn’t have to get up early tomorrow, so instead, he just parks his car at his apartment and walks to one of the local bars.

He doesn’t like most gay clubs. They’re either too much like the Fairy Tail or they’re like too many other bars, filled with desperate people trying to forget someone or something, or hoping to find someone or something. He’s found one that’s not quite the hunting ground too many of them are. It’s a mixture of ages and preferences. When he just wants to get drunk, any bar will do, but he’s thinking maybe his crew is right. Maybe getting laid will get Ian out of his mind and let him sleep. It feels like the past two years never happened, like moving on and getting his shit together was an illusion.

He goes inside and orders a boilermaker. He slams back the shot of whiskey then sips his beer as he looks around. A few people look back. He knows how someone looks is no indication of preference – he proves that himself – so he waits until he finds someone who looks him square in the eye and motions him over. Grabbing his beer, Mickey goes over to the guy’s table and sits down.

The guy looks Mickey up and down. “How badly do you want the rest of that beer?”

Mickey slugs the rest of his drink down in a series of deep swallows. “What beer?”

**

His phone wakes him up too damn early. He’s sweaty and sticky and the guy beside him – Tim? Tom? Ron? - is curled too closely around him. He grumbles about the sound, so Mickey climbs out of the bed, gets his phone, and carries it into the bathroom.

“What?”

“Am sick as dog. Come get Yevgeny.”

“Yeah. Okay. It’ll take me a bit. I’m not at home.”

“Where?”

It’s a familiar conversation. Those first six months after the breakup were filled with nameless guys, with Mickey coming home at all hours of the night, usually drunk and unwashed, smelling like sex or worse. He’d ended up in jail three times. Once for drunk and disorderly when he was walking around some ritzy neighborhood, yelling for all the closeted gay boys to come out and play.

The second time was a bar brawl. He spent a month in lock-up for that one. He ended up with the brunt of the punishment, because no one was about to believe a Milkovich was involved, but _not_ the instigator.

The last time was eventually ruled self-defense, but only because 911 got there quickly enough it didn’t turn into involuntary manslaughter. Mickey had come out of a bar long past time everyone else was gone. Three guys that he’d seen earlier in the bar were waiting for him, and he told then again that he wasn’t interested.

He hadn’t been in a fight in too long, and he’d gotten beaten pretty bad. If there’d been two, he might have been okay, but three was too much, especially given how drunk he was. Two of the guys had held him on the ground while the third had jerked Mickey’s jeans down. Mickey felt the gun in the waistband of one of the guys holding him as it pressed against his shoulder when he struggled. Mickey stopped moving and the guys holding him loosened their grip. 

The third guy had gotten Mickey naked from the waist down and was trying to turn him onto his hands and knees. He’d used his distraction to grab the gun and snap the safety off. He shot in front of him and blood sprayed everywhere. The two guys holding Mickey had taken off and he’d managed to sit up and call for help. The would-be rapist was sitting there with his hands over his crotch, blood seeping out from behind them. 

He’d effectively castrated the guy and, if he’d hit any lower, he might have hit the femoral artery and killed him. Mickey was almost sorry he’d missed. He’d gone to jail and had to be bailed out, but the guy gave up his friends, and they were happy to blame everything on him, so it hadn’t even gone to trial. Mickey was glad. He didn’t think he could have admitted that he’d almost been raped made him. Just thinking the words made him want to throw up. He knew it was fucked up thinking, but saying that, admitting that was something that hit too close to home, brought up too many painful memories.

After all that he’d cleaned up his act. He’d cut back on his drinking because just the small amount of time he’d spent in jail was enough. County lock-up sure as fuck was not where he wanted to end up, and that was a stepping stone straight to prison. Ending up like Terry was not an option.

It’s been a while since Mickey’s fallen asleep with anyone, so he knows he’s tired. He pulls his clothes on and taps the guy on the shoulder. He just grumbles again, so Mickey heads out. It’s about ten blocks to his apartment, so he walks hurriedly to his car. He’s got the uncomfortable shivers that come from being jolted awake, so it takes him a little while to feel like his nerves aren’t jangling. He drives over to the Alibi and finds a place to park not too far down the street. Climbing the back stairs, he lets himself in with his key. He has it in case of emergencies but he’s never actually used it before. He walks inside and only the bedroom light is on. Mickey heads there and knocks on the door frame. “Hey.”

“Fuck you.”

Mickey grins at Svetlana's pale face. “You want some soup or something?”

“Take Yevgeny so he doesn’t get sick. Will owe weekend to you.”

“We can hang here in case you need help.”

She glares at him, though Mickey’s pretty sure that’s just her natural look. “Nika comes back in morning. Stay until this and then go.”

“You need anything?”

“You stink.”

“Well, I didn’t really take time to shower. Thought the sooner I got here the better.”

“Make tea and then go in other room. Don’t need to smell man sex.”

Mickey just laughs and goes to make her tea. This is the real reason he can’t let Ian fuck up his life. He gets along with Svetlana. He gets along with his son. Yevgeny loves Mickey, and Mickey’s had few enough people love him that he doesn’t want to lose that. Losing Ian was bad enough. Besides, it's something Mickey's used to. Not like he’s ever had a shortage of mouths to feed.

He gets Svetlana her tea then kicks off his shoes and tugs a blanket over himself as he settles on the couch. It apparently doesn’t take him long to fall asleep, because the next thing he knows, Yevgeny is clamoring on top of him.

“Papa! Papa! Mama blech!” He imitates vomiting, which isn’t Mickey’s favorite thing to wake up to, though it is better than the real thing.

“Nika home yet?”

“No. Mama call her a bad word.”

“Tell you what. You sit here and watch cartoons, and I’m going to check on your mama.”

“‘Kay, Papa!”

Mickey gets a glass of water and some aspirin and takes them into the bathroom. “You all right?”

“Nika here?”

“Not yet.”

Svetlana rests her head against the tub. “Take Yevgeny to your house. Don’t want him sick.”

“I hate to leave you alone.”

“Since when?”

“Really?” Mickey shakes his head. “Okay. I’ll pack his stuff and go.”

“He is not your son.” 

Her voice isn't cruel. It's matter-of-fact just like most of the things she says to him. Still, they're words he never expected to hear, and he doesn't know why he's hearing them now. Maybe if he'd heard them three years ago it might have made a difference. Now Mickey just takes a deep breath and shakes his head. “Yes he is. Fuck biology.”

“You are better than I thought." Svetlana seems surprised. "Better without him.”

“Jesus. Will you guys stop? He works with me. That’s all. Nothing else.”

“He hurt you.”’

“I know that. I was there, all right? I’m not a fucking glutton for punishment.” He sighs. “Besides, since when do you give a shit about me?”

“Don’t. But Yevgeny does.”

“Right," Mickey snaps. He's not sure what he's done to piss off the universe, because his life was going fine until Gallagher walked back into it. "I’ll pack his shit and we’ll go. Try not to die.”

He goes into Yevgeny’s room and packs a bag then hauls the giggling kid into the bedroom to get dressed.  “Papa smell bad.”

“I know. Papa’s going to take a shower at home. Don’t worry.” He grabs the bag and Yevgeny grabs one of his giant stuffed animals and then they head down to the car. He grabs Yevgeny's hand and starts walking. He’s looking down, talking to Yevgeny when the kid stops.

“Bad man!” He shakes his hand free of Mickey’s and runs down the sidewalk. Mickey groans and takes off after him, but he’s too late to stop Yevgeny from kicking Ian and punching him in the thigh. 

“Hey! Hey!” Mickey picks him up and holds him tight. “Hey! We don’t hit.” Mickey looks up in time to stop Ian from saying anything. Ian bites back a smile.

“You hurt Papa!” Yevgeny points at Ian with all the angry vengeance of a kid. “No hurt my Papa!” He wraps his arms around Mickey’s neck protectively.

“Hey! Not so tight! Papa needs to breathe.” Mickey acts like he’s choking, gasping for air. He staggers around and Yevgeny immediately lets go.

“Oh no! Killed Papa!”

Ian looks worried, but Mickey takes a deep breath when Yevgeny kisses his cheek. “Whew,” Mickey gasps. “That was a close call, kiddo.” Mickey looks at Ian and Ian’s smiling. 

“Never thought I’d see this.”

“There’s a lot you haven’t seen.” Mickey tries to keep his voice from being accusatory as he hefts Yevgeny higher on his hip. “We’ve got to go. We’ve got pancakes waiting for us.”

Ian nods and steps out of his way, his nose wrinkling as Mickey walks by. Mickey raises an eyebrow, daring him to say something. Ian raises his hands in surrender “Isn’t your house the other way?” 

“Papa no has house! Has parment.”

“Oh.” Ian nods, frowning. “That’s great.”

“See you at work,” Mickey says as they walk past. Ian reaches out and touches Mickey’s wrist.

“I’m happy for you.”

“Seriously, Ian?” Ian jerks his hand back as if he’s been stung, and Mickey looks up from where Ian’s hand has been. Lip is ten feet away from them, his mouth twisted in a snarl. “Thought we talked about this. You stay away from shit before. Toxic shit.”

Mickey’s eyebrows go up.

“We just happened to run into each other, Lip. He was picking up Yevgeny.”

“Don’t you know, Gallagher?” Mickey purses his lips, giving Lip a knowing, challenging look. “Gallaghers are too good for Milkovichs. You’re supposed to just walk on by.” Mickey grabs the stuffed animal Yevgeny dropped and starts for his car again, brushing deliberately against Lip.

“You smell like a fucking whorehouse.”

“Least my whores were honest. You just call your whoring social climbing.” Mickey keeps walking, glad he’s holding Yevgeny so he doesn’t shake, so he’s not tempted to beat Lip’s smug face in.

“You had horses, Papa?”

Yevgeny's eyes are wide and Mickey sniffs a laugh. “Yeah. Something like that.”

**

He sees Ian at lunch on Monday and Ian tilts his head toward Mickey’s office. Mickey rolls his eyes, but meets him over there. He sighs when he gets to Ian. “What?”

“I’m sorry about Lip.”

“Some things never change. One of those things is your brother being a pompous dick bag with with a selective memory. Not your fault.” Mickey’s lips twitch and he bites the bottom one. “He doesn’t know we work together?”

“I'm pretty sure they'd pressure me to quit if they knew you worked here. But I like this job. I think I'm good at it.”

Mickey nods. “Jerome says you’re doing a good job.”

“I’m trying. I want to prove to them that they don’t have to baby me. Take care of me.”

“Your family’s never going to believe that. About any of you.”

Ian sighs. “I know.” Clearing his throat, he shoves his hands in his pockets. “He’s a cute kid. Vicious, but cute.”

“He gets that from Svetlana.”

“The vicious or the cute?”

“Both.”

“I don’t know. Both sound more like you to me.”

Mickey smirks. “You’re the only one who ever thought I was cute.”

“That’s not true.”

“Yeah. It is." Mickey shrugs. He resigned himself to the truth a long time ago. "Guys think I’m fuckable. That’s as far as it goes.”

“Or is that as far as you let it go?”

“And that’s the part that’s definitely none of your business.” Mickey looks away from him. “You should listen to Lip. Just because he’s a complete and utter dick, doesn’t mean he’s wrong.”

“You were never toxic for me. The opposite actually.”

“Bullshit.”

“Milkovich!”

Mickey looks up as the boss yells his name. “Duty calls.” He jogs off to the main office. “What’s up?”

“Night crew’s numbers are down. Need you to change your shift and whip them into shape.”

“For how long? I’ve got a kid I have to help take care of.”

“Depends on how long it takes to get the numbers up. You’ve got the day crew in hand. I’m already looking for a new night supervisor. Once we’ve got someone for that and trained, you should be good to go back.”

“Talk to Jerome. He’s ready. Trained Gallagher and the kid’s doing well.”

“Think he’ll do nights?”

“For a raise, probably.”

He nods. “Okay. You’re still on nights until I get him trained though.”

“Got it. You want me to start tomorrow night?”

“Yeah. You get a whole day.”

“You’re a giver. Well, I’d better get these idiots to work. Can’t let them slack while I’m gone.”

Mickey goes back to work as the boss pages Jerome to his office. When Jerome comes back, he thanks Mickey for putting a word in for him. 

“You’re welcome, man. You want to send Gallagher in here when you get back?”

“Will do.” He walks off and Mickey  takes a deep breath. Ian shows up about ten minutes later. “Jerome says you want to see me?”

“Yeah. Sit down. And stop looking like you’ve been sent to the guillotine. Jesus.”

“Sorry.” Ian sits down and takes a deep breath. “Okay.”

“Jerome’s going to be moving up to nights. They’re going to be looking for someone to take over his spot as line supervisor. You’re new, but I thought you might be interested. Might want to put your name in the hat.”

Ian's eyes widen in surprise. “You think I could do that?”

“Yeah. You’ve learned quick. You’re a hard-worker. Jerome says you’re doing a good job. Even if you don’t get it, it lets management know you’re interested for the future.”

Ian nods. “Why are you telling me this?”

“I don’t really know. Maybe I want you to prove to your family that you’re more than capable of this, of taking care of yourself.”

“I hurt you. You've made it really clear you don't really like me much anymore. Why would you help me?”

Mickey shrugs. “You took a chance getting Linda to hire me.”

“Yeah, but that was because I wanted easy access to you.”

“Easy access, huh? Guess I was that.” Mickey laughs, and it’s slightly bitter. “Still. You were the first person to take that kind of chance on me. Besides if there’s someone doing the job that I trust to do the job, then I don’t have to work as hard. Win-win.” Ian gets that god-damned goofy smile on his face, the one Mickey’s seen too many times before. The one that means trouble because it reminds Mickey of when all this started, reminds him that Ian knows too much, knows him too well. “Anyway. Get your ass back to work.” Mickey’s afraid he’s blushing. And blushing means he’s giving Gallagher an inch, and in the past all that’s led to is Mickey taking nine. And, fuck, thinking about Ian’s dick with Ian standing in front of him definitely means Mickey’s blushing.

Ian’s smile changes, saddens and Mickey wonders what he’s thinking. “See you later then. Thanks for the tip.”

Mickey nods. He could never read Ian as well as Ian could read him. “No problem.”

**

Mickey’s not friends with anyone at work, so it’s not until he shows up for the night shift the next day that he realizes he’d forgotten to mention the change to his crew. They all surround him like he’s the fucking long-lost child, and he hates that it feels kind of good. At least until he sees Ian at the back of the crowd, his face like a thundercloud.

He waves them all off and goes into his office after telling them it’s all temporary. He’s going over the pull schedules when the air in the room changes and the door shuts.

“You don’t get to say shit.” Mickey doesn’t turn around. “I don’t give a fuck that you were sick and off your meds. You took off with your mom. Your sister fucking chased after me with a gun. She fucking _shot_ me, and you didn’t give one single god-damned shit, so don’t fucking pretend to be upset now."

He hears Ian sigh so he assumes it’s over until Ian grabs his arm and spins Mickey around to face him. He doesn’t say anything He just stares at Mickey. Ian’s breathing hard and fast and, fuck, Mickey wants him. Wants Ian to bend him over the desk and pound him, fuck him hard enough that Mickey will stop _needing_.

“I’m glad you’re okay.”

Mickey nods jerkily. “Thanks.”

“What if, after you’re back on days, we go to coffee. Just coffee. Try to talk through all of this.” Ian turns his free hand in a circle between them.

“Put the past behind us and move on?”

Ian’s smile this time is sad, hollow. “Yeah.”

Mickey shakes his head and looks Ian in the eye, wondering if Ian knows he’s lying. “I already have.”

**

Nights go by fast, and it doesn’t take Mickey long to figure out why the quotas aren’t being met. He changes teams around, focusing on strengths and personalities. Working this kind of job is like working the jobs he used to with his dad and brothers. Figure out who’s good at what and make them do that. Find everyone’s wheelhouse.

After a month though, he gladly hands the reins over to Jerome. He walks out of the warehouse as Ian’s walking in. They’ve passed each other a few times at shift change, never doing more than nodding at each other just like Mickey does with everyone else. Except, this time when Ian walks by, Mickey utters quietly. “See you Monday, Gallagher.”

He doesn’t know why he does it, but he expects it has something to do with the smile he gets in return.

**

He gets shit from the crew on Monday. The usual moaning and groaning that the taskmaster is back. He also hears about the sunburn on his face and how happy he seems. Half the guys suggest it’s rug burn from eating pussy all weekend, and Mickey just grins at them. He’d actually taken Yevgeny to the lake in some probably pathetic attempt to bond or be a dad unlike most south side dads he’d known. Of course, Mickey doesn’t know how to swim, so he had to find ways to keep Yevgeny occupied so he wouldn’t scream to go deeper. He succeeded. Some of the time.

He’s glad to be back with his crew, and even happier to see they stayed on track while he was gone. He calls all his team leaders in for a quick congratulations as well as their Monday morning pull lists and weekly quotas. He’s not surprised to see Ian there. He knows what a determined fucker Ian can be, not to mention how much spite is a motivator for him. Just because Ian and Lip are best friends, it doesn’t mean Ian’s comfortable coming in second place, second best.

They go over everything and then the guys go back to work. Mickey actually eats lunch with the crew and takes his breaks with them. Ian keeps his distance, at most exchanging a nod with Mickey. He keeps it up for two weeks, and Mickey knows he should be grateful. Except he sees Ian walk past his office at quitting time and can't help calling out. “Gallagher!”

Ian pokes his head in. “Yeah?”

“Come in for a few.” Mickey hates that he’s missed Ian smiling at him, talking to him. Ian sits down opposite Mickey. “How’s it going? Guys working hard for you?”

“Yeah. Figured out a good motivator.”

Something in Ian’s voice bothers him. “Yeah? What’s that?”

“I fuck them in the bathroom.”

Mickey holds Ian’s gaze, watches Ian’s smirk and the eyebrow he raises. Mickey’s not used to the give and take they have going, the off and on. It reminds him that this he's a different Mickey, that this is a different Ian, and he’s not sure if that’s good or bad. “As long as it gets results.”

“Always has before.”

“Just don’t get so busy motivating them that you slack off on your own job.”

“I won’t. That all?”

Mickey swallows. “Yeah. Have a good weekend. See you Monday.”

“You too, boss.” Ian salutes Mickey and leaves the office. Mickey’s got a bitter taste in his mouth. He finishes his paperwork and leans back in his chair with a sigh. He’s glad he doesn’t have Yevgeny this weekend. He needs more than one drink and he needs someone to fuck him until he’s numb.

He drives to the bar he usually has his best luck at. He hates driving someplace, because that usually means he has to get a cab back to his car in the morning or when they’re done, depending on the guy. The need is worth the hassle though. He sits at the bar and orders three shots of whiskey, and downs the first two of them in quick succession. He feels the heat against his back just as he takes the first sip of his last shot. Hot breath brushes against his ear and the familiar temptation to lean back is an ache inside him.

“What’s your type?" Ian's voice is a low purr, hot and hungry and predatory. "What kind of guy do you take home, Mick?”

He knows the answer to that question should be ‘fuck off’, but the words don’t come out. “Depends on what mood I’m in.”

“What mood are you in tonight? Light? Dark? Tall? Short?”

“You really don’t understand ‘none of your business’, do you?” Mickey takes another sip of his drink to hide the tremble in his voice. Ian shifts back and turns Mickey’s stool around, stepping in between his legs with ease and familiarity. Mickey raises an eyebrow, searching for the persona he's tried to shed. “You’re seriously fucking with my chances of getting laid.”

Ian’s look tells Mickey in no uncertain terms that he could easily get laid just by saying yes.That's not what Ian says though. Seems like neither of them is saying what they mean. “Let me take you out for coffee. I know you don’t want me anymore, and I don’t blame you.” Both of those are clearly lies, and they both know it. “At least let me try to make amends.”

“You don’t owe me anything, Ian. You can’t help how you feel or don’t feel. Just because someone loves you, it doesn’t mean they love you back. Can’t help that either. It’s fine. No hard feelings.”

“Do you really believe I didn’t love you?”

“I think you did. And then you didn’t. It happens. It doesn’t last forever.”

“Mickey.”

“I’m trying to find someone for tonight, Ian. So could you please…”

Ian cups Mickey’s jaw and moves closer. Mickey’s heartbeat stutters roughly. “Take me home, Mickey.”

“No. Now fuck off.”

Ian’s fingers dig in harder. Mickey can’t breathe. It hurts to know that these past two years have just been him lying to himself, pretending that his life is his own and not ruled by Ian Gallagher like he’s the fucking moon guiding Mickey’s tides. He hates that he’s been lying to himself. Lying to everyone. He hates the tears that sting his eyes.

“Let me go, Ian. Please.”

Whatever is in Mickey’s voice makes Ian drop his hand immediately. Mickey doesn’t even look, just grabs bills out of his wallet and throws them on the bar before walking out, careful not to touch Ian as he moves past him. He thinks he hears Ian call his name, but he ignores him. Ignores everything but the hard pounding in his head and his heart.

**

He calls in sick on Monday.

He’s not the man he thought he'd become. He's everything he swore he’d never be, everything he refused to let himself be after Ian told him to fuck off. Everything Ian made him be.

He shoves his shit in the car and starts driving. He’s not sure if he’s going to keep going or if he’s going to turn around. If he doesn’t stop, he won’t be part of Yevgeny’s life anymore, but maybe it’s better that way. He wasn’t meant to be a father, and according to Svetlana, he isn’t. Never has been.

He’s not sure where he’s going, but it's clear he's not turning around. He just drives. He doesn't care where he's going. It could be anywhere. Anywhere he’s not Mickey Milkovich. Anywhere he never knew Ian Gallagher.

Anywhere but here.


End file.
